


A Murder in Milborough

by MrToddWilkins (orphan_account)



Category: For Better or For Worse (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Elly Patterson Bashing, I guess this is an AU, Parody, gonna spoil it now:Mike is the killer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21547411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/MrToddWilkins





	1. At the scene of the crime

Beatrice Alfarero smiled to herself as she walked down Main Street. It was another beautiful summer day in Milborough. It was just turning nine o’clock in the morning and all around her Beatrice could see the various shops on Main Street opening for business.  
  
There was Tony Testosteroni, the portly Italian, sweeping the sidewalk in front of his pizzeria. “Good morning, Mr. Testosteroni!” Beatrice sang out.  
  
“Buon giorno!” shouted the genial white tee-shirt clad Italian. “Itsa-da-beeootiful day!”  
  
“It sure is!” Beatrice replied with a wave.  
  
Just down the street, directly under the reproduction antique street lights her beloved mentor Elly Patterson initially hated and later approved of stood Klaus Gruebbelhoeffer, proprietor of the Biergarten located directly next to Lilliput’s. “Hi there, Klaus!” smiled Beatrice.  
  
“Guten Morgen, Beatrice!” Klaus responded, the fleshy redness of his skin gleaming in the morning light. “Und are you at der Lilliput’s taking der easy way today? Vee haff been here since sieben this morning and der Lilliput’s ist still closed!”  
  
“That’s odd,” Beatrice frowned. “Moira was supposed to be here at seven this morning. I’d better see what’s going on!” Hurriedly she strode towards the door, and finding it locked, used her key and walked in.  
  
Seconds later a scream of horror echoed up and down the quaint facades of Main Street.  
  
An hour later Detective Inspector Brad Luggsworth stood gazing with disgust at the bloody and bloated corpse. Ignoring the soft sobs from the young woman who’d found the body, huddled over by the register, he knelt. Ah yes. There was evidence here, perhaps _too_ much evidence.  
  
“Top of the mornin to ye!” bellowed a voice behind him. Turning swiftly, Brad saw that it belonged to a large, red-haired man wearing a cheap, ill-fitted suit and a badly-knotted tie. “Who the hell are you?” Luggsworth demanded, eyes narrowing.  
  
“Why sure and I’m yeer new partner, Paddy O’Gallagher!”  
  
Ah, shit! Thought Luggsworth. A new partner, and a rookie at that, just promoted from uniform. Just what he needed.  
  
Paddy beamed, unfazed by Luggsworth’s obvious antipathy. “Chief was after telling me that there was a …” his words trailed off as Luggsworth rose, giving the hapless Paddy a full view of the gory scene. “… gosh and mitherfeckin’ begorrah!” whispered Paddy, his face, excepting his red-veined nose, going pale. Shakily, he reached for his hip flask.  
  
“What’s the matter rookie, never seen a dead body before?” Luggsworth sneered.   
  
“Faith, but I have,” Paddy replied, gripping his flask. “But sweet Jesus, I’ve never seen anything like this!”  
  
“Neither have I,” admitted Luggsworth. “Not here, anyway. Not in Milborough. Toronto, yes, but …”  
  
“Sure and weren’t you working in that fine city just a little while ago?” inquired O’Gallagher. “Why were you after leaving such a fine post to come here?”  
  
“That,” Luggsworth spat out, “is my own business.” He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the memories – Toronto, the force, the beautiful woman he’d lost to … “Let’s focus on the task at hand. Decedent, Elly Richards Patterson, aged 54. Resides at Sharon Park Drive. Married, mother of three children, one of whom I went to school with, proprietor of Lilliput’s Bookstore. Found this morning by a store employee, judging from her liver temp has probably been dead for twelve to fourteen hours. Cause of death will have to be determined by Doc down at the morgue but judging from the wounds in her back, stabbing seems likely.”  
  
“Faith and what’s that in her hand?” Paddy asked, gesturing towards the cadaver.  
  
“Looks like a blueberry muffin. What does that tell us, rookie?”  
  
“I’m after thinkin’ it’s telling us she should have laid off those blessed muffin and worked some of the fat off her fanny,” postulated the Irishman.  
  
“You’ve got a keen sense of the obvious, O’Gallagher,” Luggsworth said, pinning his new partner with a steely look. “Obviously she’s overweight. Always has been, even when I was a kid. Jelly Patterson, my mom used to call her. But that’s not why the muffin is significant.”   
  
“Sure and what does it mean, then?”  
  
“It means Elly Patterson knew her killer, trusted whoever it was. Even Elly Patterson would relax her death-grip on a food item if she were confronted by a robber, for instance. Plus, she’s face down and the knife is in her back. Judging from that trail of crumbs, she seems to have been walking away from that toy display over there, her back to the killer, and was stabbed right about where she fell.”   
  
Walking a few steps to the left he pointed towards a cup which lay on the carpet, surround by a dark stain. “That there is a coffee cup, knowing her filled with a skim milk latte because in Elly-world the skim milk magically absorbs the muffin calories and makes them disappear. Probably shot out of her hand when she was stabbed.”  
  
“Gosh and you’re sure good at this!” Paddy exclaimed. “I’m after thinkin’ this case won’t be so hard to solve after all. The killer was someone she knew, and someone who wanted her dead. How many suspects can there be, after all?”  
  
Luggsworth laughed a short, bitter laugh. “O’Gallagher,” he said. “Milborough’s a small town. Elly Patterson made it her business to know everyone’s business. And,” he continued, gazing reflectively at the corpse, “every single person in this town had a reason to kill her.”


	2. The Usual Suspects

Luggsworth leaned against the reproduction antique lamp post outside Lilliput’s, dragging on a Marlboro Light, watching as six firefighters struggled to push the stretcher bearing Elly Patterson’s corpse through the door. Through the plate-glass window he could see his new partner Paddy O’Gallagher taking furtive swigs from his hip flask as he took a statement from Beatrice Alfarero.  
  
Christ, what a mess, Luggsworth groaned to himself. Where to start? He could think of at least sixteen people offhand, who, given the choice between having to swerve to avoid running over either Elly Patterson or a squirrel would happily let the squirrel scamper away to freedom.  
  
“Find out anything?” he said as Paddy exited the door.  
  
“Sure and I did. Accordin’ to the young lady there, a Miss Moira Kinney – fine Irish name! – was supposed to be openin’ the store today, sure and she was.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“Well, gosh and begorrah, she never showed up! I’m after thinkin’ we may have found our prime suspect!”  
  
“Not so fast, O’Gallagher,” Luggsworth cautioned. “It’s a lead, nothing more.”  
  
“Now then,” Paddy spluttered indignantly. “Miss Alfarero was tellin’ me that the victim and this Miss Kinney were always after arguing over displays, staffing levels, salaries and bein’ wimmin, probably fightin’ over shoes and dresses, sure and they were.”  
  
“Look, rookie,” Luggsworth hissed, his patience at an end. “I told you before. Every single person in this town, and I mean every last person had a problem with our victim.” He gestured towards the sheeted remains. “If I recall correctly I heard you complaining about her a few weeks ago.”  
  
“Why,” Paddy began, struggling to remember. “Yes, sure and I did. I was still in uniform. She called me down here on an emergency, an’ when I arrived she was after telling me she’d seen someone throw a Starbucks cup out of their car, sure and she did. Got the plate number and everything, told me to hurry up and arrest the culprit! I told her one more call like that wastin’ my time and she’d find my nightstick up her …”  
  
“My point exactly,” Luggsworth interrupted. “We have about a thousand suspects. But we have to start somewhere. Send a radio car over to Moira Kinney’s place, pick her up if she’s there, if not, put a BOLO on her. I’ll arrange to have the family brought down to the station.”  
  
“Sure and you’re not after tellin’ them there that their beloved wife and mother’s been murdered, are ye?” cried Paddy, aghast.  
  
Luggsworth smiled a thin, bitter smile. “Rookie, most murders are committed by someone close to the victim. They’re all suspects. Now get moving.”  
  
He turned abruptly and stalked towards his unmarked car, leaving O’Gallagher shaking his head in disapproval.  
  
Goddamned rookie, Luggsworth seethed. This case was going to be hard enough to solve without a goddamned drunken Irish newly minted detective hanging like an albatross around his neck.   
  
Flicking on his blues he headed towards the station, mentally preparing his interrogation strategy, reviewing the family. The Pattersons. John, the husband of the victim. Mild-mannered dentist, thoroughly whipped paterfamilias and avid model train enthusiast. After what had to be a hundred years of marriage, could have snapped. Strong suspect.  
  
April. Youngest daughter. High school student, seemingly normal. At least, she’d seem normal to him if he hadn’t busted her and that little McGuire slut with some crushed Ritalin at the Grade Eight Grad. McGuire had a prescription for it, though, and claimed she thought it was just another way to take your medicine. Charges were dismissed, but not before Elly Patterson had severely and publicly punished her erring daughter.   
  
Elizabeth. Middle daughter, former teacher on the rez, now married to her high school boyfriend. He’d heard they were expecting a baby already. Of the whole family, the least likely suspect by virtue of stupidity.  
  
Mike. Ah, yes, Mike Patterson – or as Luggsworth used to call him, Michelle Boogerson. Knock-kneed, pigeon-chested ninety-pound weakling, constantly on the receiving end of wedgies, swirlies and wet-willies from preschool all the way through college. Smelled like lilacs all the way through grade school. Working at some magazine, had a column in the Burlington Weekly Shopper called Mike’s Mirthful Meanderings, or some such bullshit. Unusually attached to his mommy. Married to …  
  
Deanna. Oh, Deanna.  
  
He blinked hard, endeavoring to rid himself of the memories. Stolen moments in the afternoon, before that pussy she’d married came home. Furtive rendezvous on Yonge, back when he’d worked the city. Making plans to run off together, only to have it end when …  
  
The squawking of his radio brought him out of his reverie. “What!” he snapped.  
  
“Tis’ yeer new partner here,” shouted Paddy. “I’m after tellin’ ye that we’ve located Moira Kinney. Dead drunk she was, passed out on the floor of her kitchen. Said she was after makin’ the perfect coq au vin in her slow cooker and sampled a little too much cookin’ wine. Should I bring her in anyway?”  
  
“Of course, jackass!” Luggsworth shouted. “Throw her in the drunk tank, I’ll deal with her after I talk to the family.” Throwing the radio down in disgust he sped towards the station where, if the uniforms had done their job, the entire remaining Patterson clan would be waiting.


	3. The beginning of the questions

Pick them up yet?” Luggsworth said to the desk sergeant as he strode in the door of the Milborough Metropolitan Police station.  
  
“The husband’s in interrogation room one, the older daughter’s in two with her husband. MacGillihooley’s fetching the younger one from school now; Toronto’s sending a car with the son and his wife.”  
  
“Separate rooms. Good.” Luggsworth said approvingly. “You break the news to them yet?”  
  
“Yes, and it was the damndest thing,” replied the sergeant. “I broke the news to the husband and daughter and they just … just …”  
  
“Stood there and made bad puns?” finished Luggsworth.  
  
“Yeah! The daughter was crying but said something about how it was so terrible but at least her mom would keep a ‘stiff’ upper lip and the husband came back with something about how she’d always said the store would be the death of her. And how he and his little woman could be all alone now. Thinks he’s got something on the side?”  
  
“It’s worse than that,” Luggsworth replied. “I’ll fill you in later. I’m going to talk to Elizabeth first. When the others come in, stick them in separate rooms. I don’t want them to have the chance to compare stories.”  
  
Interrogation Room Two was a dismal place, the walls a livid green, sparsely furnished with a table and four chairs. Elizabeth Patterson Caine and her preternaturally aged husband, Anthony, sat in two of them. Through the one-way mirror Luggsworth could see the eldest Patterson daughter dabbing at her cheeks with a Kleenex while Anthony ineffectually patted her hand. They looked up, startled, as Luggsworth entered.  
  
“Hello, Elizabeth,” Luggsworth greeted her.  
  
“Why, Brad Luggsworth!” Liz exclaimed. “You’re on the case? Oh, thank goodness, now the awful, mean person who killed mom will be caught! This is just so terrible! I can’t believe my mom is … is … gone! Who could have done this to her?” she finished with a wail.  
  
“We’re looking at several different angles,” Luggsworth said evenly. “I know this is a difficult time for you, but I’ll need to ask you a few questions.”  
  
“Of course,” Elizabeth sniffled. “Anything I can do to help, I will.”  
  
“That’s right, officer,” Anthony croaked.  
  
“Detective,” Luggsworth said without looking at him. “Liz, when was the last time you spoke with or saw your mother?”  
  
“Last night, around six,” Liz said, her voice breaking. “I went by Lilliput’s to pick up some books on child-rearing mom set aside for me. You knew Anthony and I were expecting, didn’t you?” She patted her slightly rounded belly and beamed.  
  
“I’d heard,” Luggsworth replied. “Didn’t you just get married a few months ago?”  
  
“Well, I didn’t want to wait,” Despite her tears, Elizabeth was almost coy. “I’m twenty-four now, and I had to make up for lost time!”  
  
“Knocked her up on our honeymoon!” Anthony bragged, oblivious to Luggsworth’s gaze of disgust.   
  
“That’s right!” Liz giggled. “And we’ve already got a name picked out. We’re going to name him Howard, after the person who brought us together. And if we do end up having a girl, we’ll call her Howardina!”  
  
Make it stop! Luggsworth groaned inwardly.  
  
“It better be a boy!” Anthony growled.  
  
“I’m sure it will be,” Liz soothed. “We’ve already got a daughter, Anthony’s from his first marriage. I’ve adopted her – her biological mother was really into her career and didn’t want her, so Anthony left her after he saved me from being gone after and raped by Howard Krimple and we realized we still loved each other and then we got married and …”  
  
“Wait a minute,” Luggsworth broke in. “You were assaulted by Howard Krimple? The Milborough Molester? The guy we just arrested last week on twenty-eight counts of sexual assault? When the hell did that happen?”  
  
“Oh, about four or five months ago,” Liz said airily. “We owe him everything. If he hadn’t gone after me, Anthony would never have realized he had me to live for, he’d be married to that awful Therese and I’d be alone!”  
  
“Jesus Christ!” Luggsworth shouted. “Why didn’t you report it?! If you had you could have saved twenty four other women from being assaulted!”  
  
“I wanted to handle my assault in my own way, thank you,” Liz replied stiffly.   
  
“All right,” Luggsworth sighed, letting it go. “You saw your mother around six. Did you notice anything unusual? Did she say anything?”  
  
“I didn’t see anything unusual. We just talked about the books and the baby and what I was going to make for Anthony’s dinner. I had Francoise with me and she was getting fussy, so I just stayed for a few minutes and left. I don’t think anyone else was there, she was having a snack and getting ready to close up when I left.”  
  
“What was she eating?” Luggsworth asked casually.  
  
“A doughnut, and she also had a cup of coffee.”  
  
“And then where did you go?”  
  
“I picked up Anthony from work at Gordo’s Garage and we went home.”  
  
“Okay,” Luggsworth said, rising from his chair. “That’s all I have for the moment. Thank you for your help. I know this was difficult for you.”  
  
“Can we leave?” Anthony asked. “We’ve got funeral arrangements to make for dear Mrs. Patterson and it’s my bowling night with the boys.”  
  
“You can go, for now,” Luggsworth said with the slightest emphasis on the ‘for now.’ “I may have some more questions for you, so please stay in town and be available in case I’ve got more questions.”  
  
“Of course,” Liz replied, tears again beginning to streak her face. “Please find the terrible person who killed my mother, Brad. She was so wonderful – a loving wife, devoted mother, caring daughter, compassionate pet owner and successful business woman. Who could have wanted her dead?”  
  
Who indeed, Luggsworth thought. “We’ll catch the culprit, Liz.” he said, as he left the room.  
  
Walking down the hall to where John Patterson waited in Interrogation One, Luggsworth mentally reviewed his encounter with the Caines. Their whereabouts would need to be confirmed, alibis checked, but his gut feeling, that cop instinct which had never failed him suggested neither was a viable suspect.  
  
Still. There was always a first time.  
  
Liz claimed her mother was eating a doughnut when she’d last seen her.  
  
And Elly Patterson was found clutching a muffin in her cold, dead hand.


	4. Continued questioning

Luggsworth stopped to grab a quick cup of hours-old coffee in the hopes that it would wash away the bad taste the interview with Liz Patterson Caine had left in his mouth and give him the energy he’d need for what promised to be a mind numbing interview with John Patterson.  
  
God knows John Patterson was the most uninteresting human being alive, aside from his obsession with his trains and youngest daughter, Luggsworth reflected. At one time, he supposed, Patterson just might possibly have had a personality but any traces of this were long since obliterated by the arm-flapping shrew he’d married. He drained his cup, wincing at the bitter taste, sighed and headed to Interrogation One.   
  
He paused outside the one-way mirror and took a quick peek inside Interrogation One. John Patterson sat slumped at the table, hands folded primly in front of him, his legs crossed. Patterson never looked up, even when Luggsworth entered the room.  
  
“Hello, Dr. Patterson,” Luggsworth began. “First, my sympathies on your loss. I’m the lead detective on the case and I’m sorry to disturb you in your grief, but I have a few questions I have to ask you. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Brad Luggsworth. Mike and I went to school together.”  
  
A tiny flicker of interest stitched across the broad plains of Patterson’s face. “Oh, yes, I remember,” he said, in his somewhat high pitched voice. “Mike used to talk about you all the time. I remember you boys used to fight quite a bit.”  
  
If you can call a situation where one person lies on the ground while someone else kicks the shit out of him “fighting,” Luggsworth thought. “Yes, well, that was a long time ago sir,” he replied. “I’m afraid I was a bit of a bully in those days.”  
  
“I remember sitting Mike down,” the hapless dentist continued, as if he hadn’t heard a word Luggsworth said. “… and telling him that in every fistfight there were two losers, not just one.”  
  
Oh, God.  
  
“… and that instead of resorting to fisticuffs he should use his talent for words as a weapon the next time you tried to beat him up or give him a wedgie.”  
  
“I think I remember that, sir.” Luggsworth said, endeavoring to keep his voice pleasant. “I caught him outside at recess the next day, and told him to give me his lunch money. He called me a foolish, flippant, flatulent foob, as I recall.”  
  
“He sure did!” Patterson said, brightening visibly. “I guess he showed _you!_”  
  
“And in return I wedged him so hard I actually got the waistband of his underpants over his head,” Luggsworth retorted, annoyed. Get a grip, Brad, stick with business, he thought. “But enough about that. Dr. Patterson, when was the last time you saw your wife?”  
  
“Hmmmm,” Patterson mused. “Must have been about quarter past six last night. Yes, I think it was. April and I were on our way to dinner at Le Petite Navet, and we had reservations for six-thirty, and we ended up being five minutes late, thanks to my wife. We stopped in to tell Elly we wouldn’t be home till eleven or so, because April wanted to catch a flick after dinner.”  
  
“What movie did you see?” Luggsworth asked. “And isn’t that awfully late for a fourteen year old girl to be out on a school night?”  
  
“We saw ‘Boborygmus,’” Patterson replied. “Well, it was a little late, I guess, but there were extenuating circumstances. You see, the Little Woman and I usually have ‘date night’ on Fridays, but this Friday she’s got a school dance she wanted to go to and the high school won’t let fathers act as escorts the way the middle school did, so I had to sign up as a chaperone while her friend Gerald acted as what she called a ‘beard.’ She swore to me that they’re not _actually dating_. Anyway, we figured that wasn’t a _real_ date night for us so …”  
  
“I get it,” Luggsworth interrupted. “So, you stopped in at Lilliput’s around quarter past six. What happened?”  
  
“Well,” Patterson said, “It was rather unpleasant. We had a bit of a tiff.”  
  
Luggsworth’s ‘suspect radar’ blipped faintly. “What about?”  
  
“It was Elly’s fault,” Patterson sniffed, his face assuming a look of distaste. “She was upset because April was wearing one of her old cocktail dresses. You may not have known this Brad, but when Elly and I married, she was pretty hot. Slender, but with an hourglass figure, and she really knew how to dress.”  
  
“No, I didn’t know that,” Luggsworth responded, having only known the decedent to have the general shape and contours of a potato.  
  
“Well, once we had kids she started gaining weight. She still kept some of her old clothes, packed away in the cedar closet. April was looking for something special to wear, since Le Petite Navet is so fancy, and she found Elly’s strapless red bugle-beaded sheath. Funny how things like that never go out of style. It fit my little princess perfectly; she’s really filled out and …”  
  
“Okay,” Luggsworth said hastily, not liking where this was going. “So, Elly was angry about the dress?”  
  
“I knew she would be. ‘John,” she said, ‘I don’t think that’s at all appropriate for April to wear, she’s got perfectly good school uniforms to tool around in and you’ve got her tricked out like a pole dancer!’” Patterson sighed and shifted slightly in his chair. “She yelled about it for a good ten minutes, I was desperate to get out of there. Luckily, my baby girl saved the day!”  
  
“How?”  
  
“While Elly and I were arguing, April slipped out and ran up the street to Starbucks. She came back in with a tall skim latte and something to eat. She’s so smart, it distracted Elly right away and we were able to escape.”  
  
“And then …?” Luggsworth prompted.  
  
“Well, we went to dinner and to the movie. April and I went straight home afterwards.”  
  
“How is it,” Luggsworth asked slowly, “that you never noticed your wife hadn’t come home? Didn’t you notice she wasn’t there when you went to go to bed?”  
  
“Well,” Patterson replied, his bulbous nose reddening, “it’s like this. Elly and I have been having some problems lately. I’ve been sleeping on the couch. When the Little Woman and I got home, I sent her straight to bed and I bunked downstairs like I’ve been doing. I did notice she wasn’t home when I got up and went to shower and dress. But I just assumed she’d left for the store already.”  
  
“Still,” Luggsworth persisted. “That doesn’t sound right. Didn’t you notice the bed hadn’t been slept in?”  
  
“She’s always insisted the bed be made eight seconds after we got up,” Patterson replied defensively. “She’s a very house-proud kind of person.”  
  
A tap on the mirror. Something was up. Luggsworth rose from his chair. “Excuse me for a moment, Dr. Patterson,” he said.  
  
He crossed quickly to the door, and stepped outside.  
  
“GOSH AND BEGORRAH!” bellowed Paddy O’Gallagher. “I’m after tellin’ ye, ye don’t need to badger the poor man! Grillin’ him on the state of his marital bed, have ye no shame?!”  
  
“Stuff it, rookie.” Luggsworth said. “You better have called me out of there for a good reason.”  
  
“Sure and I did. We’ve got Miss McKinney in the drunk tank, like ye asked, and the youngest Patterson girl is in Interrogation Three, sure and she is. Oh and before I’m fergettin’ Doc Grissom asked me to tell ye that he’ll be starting on poor Mrs. Patterson in a bit, said he knew ye’d want to be there for the … the …” O’Gallagher gulped, overcome with emotion.  
  
“The autopsy,” Luggsworth finished for him. “Although it’ll be more like a flensing than anything else. I’m almost done here; I’ll talk to April Patterson in a minute.”   
  
  
Stepping back in the room, he addressed the new widower. “Okay, Dr. Patterson, that’s all I have for now. I may need to ask you some more questions, so please stay in town so I can reach you if need be.”  
  
“Sure. Good to see you again Brad!” the dentist grinned and waved. Another Patterson inappropriate grief response, Luggsworth thought, heading for the door. What the fuck was with these people? “One more thing, sir. You said April got her mom some coffee and something to eat? What was that?”  
  
“A cheese Danish,” Patterson said. “She was munching on it when we left.”  
  
“Okay, thanks,” Luggsworth said, exiting.   
  
Interesting.  
  
Liz claimed her mother was eating a doughnut at six, John Patterson claimed she was grazing on a cheese Danish around six thirty, and the decedent was found clutching a butter-soaked muffin. A clue? Or a false lead. Elly Patterson’s fondness for baked goods was legend in Milborough. It might mean nothing.  
  
Or it might mean everything.


	5. April’s story

Luggsworth strode down the hall towards Interrogation Three where April Patterson awaited questioning. There’s one to watch, Luggsworth thought to himself. A Ritalin-sniffing, petty-thieving reform-school candidate if ever there was one. Her and that McGuire slut she ran with. The Milborough PD was keeping a close eye on them. He took a deep breath and went in.  
  
April Patterson’s relaxed posture made clear what Luggsworth already knew; she had more than a passing familiarity with Interrogation Room Three and what went on in there. She was relaxed, wearing her school uniform with the skirt band rolled up, sitting tipped back in the chair, her shapely legs clad in spangled fishnets resting on the table.  
  
“Get your goddamned legs off the table,” Luggsworth said by way of a greeting.  
  
April complied, smirking. “Heya Brad. Long time, no C.”  
  
“What’s it been, three months?” Luggsworth replied. “Must be, last time I saw you, you were spread-eagled on a radio car getting patted down. Again.”  
  
“What-EVAH,” she retorted. “Still pissy with me? Poor widdle Brad, his big Rit bust went south. I fuckin’ told u Beckers had a script for that stuff. She just can’t swallow pills so she crushes them up an’ snorts them. Lots of people do that.”  
  
“’Lots of people’ being you, her and Elizabeth Wurtzel, Apes. Just drop the act, okay? You might have convinced the judge but I know better.”  
  
“It’s not my fuckin’ fault u ended up lookin’ like a jackass, I told u we’d get off,” she grinned insouciantly.   
  
“You managed to worm out of jail time,” Luggsworth replied evenly. “But you didn’t exactly escape punishment altogether, did you?” He noted with satisfaction the sour expression his words provoked on the youngest Patterson’s face. “Nope. The judge swallowed your bullshit whole, but your mom didn’t, did she?” he finished, smiling broadly.  
  
April studied him intently. “U asshole,” she hissed. “U were the one who told her!”  
  
“I sure did, April. I took myself and the case file down to Lilliput’s and showed your mommy everything her sweet little girl had been up to. Kinda fucked things up for you, didn’t it?” She didn’t respond. Luggsworth continued, “No, she had no idea her little girl had been arrested three times before this. Why would she? Every time we hauled your sweet little ass in here you called your dad to come get you, and he conveniently forgot to mention any of it to your mom. Speaking of your dad, want to tell me what’s going on there?”  
  
“Nothing,” she smirked. “I’m just daddy’s little girl, I guess.”  
  
“You know, April, you make me sick,” he said, almost conversationally. “A lot of kids play one parent against the other, but you’ve raised it to an art form. A really twisted, perverted art form.”  
  
“Nothin’ like that’s goin’ on,” she replied sullenly.  
  
“I’m inclined to believe you,” Luggsworth said. “For once. Still, it’s pretty goddamned sick. Your mom thought so too, didn’t she? That’s why she shipped you off to Manitoba for a month, to get you away from your dad. That was after she made you stand in front of her store for a full day and tell everyone who passed by that you were a delinquent. Sucked for you, didn’t it?”  
  
“What the fuck has that got to do with anything?” April shouted. “So fuckin’ what? Are u gonna sit here an’ go over all that ancient history or are u gonna find the jackass who killed my mommy?” she sniffed.  
  
“Save the crocodile tears for your dad, Ape Face,” Luggsworth hissed. “I happen to think they could be connected.”  
  
“I had nothin’ to do with it!” April insisted. “I was with dad all last night an’ a bunch of people saw us! I was in school all day today! Ask NEone! ‘Sides, all that trouble was ovah with, I swear! Mom forgave me an’ I promised I wouldn’t hang out with Becky any more. Beckers broke up our band NEway, so I hate her!”  
  
“Oh, we’ll be checking your alibi, don’t worry,” Luggsworth assured her. “But things weren’t fine, April, I know this for a fact. First, you were hanging around with McGuire, and your mom knew it. That band thing was just a front.”  
  
“How do u know?” she demanded.  
  
“Because when we went to search Lilliput’s after finding your mother’s cold, dead body – by the way, not very grief-stricken, are you? – we found a whole file on you in her desk. She’d been following you, dopey. She had a bunch of pictures of you and Becky hanging out in the park, smoking and snorting. Know what else we found?”  
  
“What?” she pouted.  
  
“We found a bunch of brochures for boarding schools, Apes. Looks like your mom was planning on breaking up your little games with your dad and Becky McGuire for good.”  
  
“No fuckin’ way!” April spluttered. “Fuckin’ BOARDING SCHOOL? No way my dad would have let me go! He’d fuckin’ kill her before …” she stopped, aghast at what she’d just said.  
  
“That’s what I thought,” Luggsworth smiled. “I’m done with you for now, but don’t worry, we’ll be chatting again.” He got up and exited without a backward glance.  
  
He headed towards the desk. Time to check in on the ETA of Mike Patterson and … Deanna. No. He wouldn’t go there. Not now. There was too much to do and he couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by memory. What was done, was done, thinking about it wouldn’t change anything. Deanna had made her choice.  
  
“Where’s the son and his wife?” Luggsworth barked at the desk sergeant.   
  
“Toronto called a few minutes ago,” the sergeant replied. “Said they were delayed. It’ll be at least another hour and a half, maybe two hours. Traffic, plus the son wouldn’t come unless he could bring his landlady and God help me, some weed with him?”  
  
“Nah,” Luggsworth laughed. “He meant Josef Weeder, his best friend. Weed’s his nickname.”  
  
“That makes more sense,” the sergeant grinned, seeing the humor. “Still, these people are so fucked up it wouldn’t have surprised me if he walked in here carrying a big ole’ bong loaded with Mtigwaki Gold.”  
  
“No joke,” Luggsworth sighed. “Well, when they get her, separate them and keep them waiting. Don’t tell them anything, and don’t let them leave. I’m heading over to the morgue; Doc Grissom’s starting the PM.”  
  
“Gross,” shuddered the sergeant. “God, I don’t envy you, having to see that naked.”  
  
“Yeah, she’ll be the first body I’ve ever seen which looked better opened up,” Luggsworth sighed. “I’ll be back.”  
  
With that, he stuck a Marlboro Light in his mouth and headed out the door.


	6. Autopsy time

Luggsworth pushed open the swinging doors of Autopsy Suite 1. “Hey doc,” he greeted Grissom, who grunted in reply from his desk.  
  
The flabby, naked carapace of Elly Patterson lay on the slab. A young morgue attendant bustled around the table, snapping photographs of the gruesome remains from various angles, while another laid out instruments. A group of medical students hovered nearby, taking notes.  
  
“What do you think?” Luggsworth asked Grissom, gesturing towards the body.  
  
“What do I think? I think I’m gonna puke. I can’t believe I got stuck with this one. We had two stiffs come in today, a nice, ripe one that was stuck in a barrel for a month and what with the hot weather we’ve been having is mostly liquid, and we also got this thing in –“ he motioned toward the table with disgust. “It’s not fair. Quincy gets the barrel o’ decomposition and _I_ get stuck doing the _gross_ one!”  
  
“That sucks,” Luggsworth murmured sympathetically.  
  
“Yeah, well. Anyway, you’re just in time. I’m about to start the PM.”  
  
“Any ideas as to what killed her?”  
  
“We’ll see,” Grissom sighed, and got up.  
  
Luggsworth followed him to the table. Grissom reached up and flicked on the microphone that would record his observations.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the medical student. “I’m sorry that your first autopsy is on this particular body. If any of you feel faint, feel free to leave the room, you won’t often come across something this … disturbing. The gentleman on my right is Detective Brad Luggsworth, who has been assigned to solve this case, not that anyone really cares what happened to her. We’ll begin with the external exam.”  
  
Picking up a clipboard, he walked around the table while the students took surreptitious glances at the body. “We have here the exceptionally well-nourished and mildly obese body of a Caucasian female, consistent in appearance with the stated age of 54. Height was measured at 5’4”, the body weighs, Holy BMI Batman, 180 lbs. Eyes are light blue, hair … well, it’s hard to say, it looks blond, then gray, then a weird muddy brown … ah, hell, we’ll say salt and pepper. Body shows frontal lividity, consistent with the decedent posture on discovery, extensive rigor, liver temp, or algor, was 85 degrees when measured at the crime scene this morning at nine.”  
  
“So, that puts the time of death between 6PM and 9PM?” Luggsworth inserted.  
  
“About that. As you all know,” Doc Grissom addressed the students, “Body temp falls about 1 degree per hour after death, but this varies. Factors such as the environment and the size of the deceased – which is gonna be a factor here, believe me – can alter this. So, we give it an hour or two on either side. The body’s in full rigor, which usually happens around 12 to 24 hours after death. The livor mortis also suggests the body was in place for some time. So, we’re using our three cardinal signs of death, algor mortis, livor mortis and rigor mortis to estimate time of death. You use other evidence – witness statements, electronic records and so forth to verify or narrow this. Right detective?”  
  
“Yes,” Luggsworth concurred. “In this case, several witnesses in a row appear to have seen Elly Patterson as late as 6:45PM last night, so we can narrow the time frame to between about 7PM and 9PM right now. There are still witnesses we need to interview, so that may change.”  
  
“Hope you’re getting all this down,” Doc smiled at the hastily scribbling students.   
He gestured towards the head. “Head and neck unremarkable except for a swollen proboscis and the unusually flat occipital region –“  
  
“Could those be signs of trauma, sir?” inquired a student.  
  
“Nah, I knew this one when she was up and walking around. Just a garden-variety big honker and a flat head. Oh, crumbs from some kind of pastry are evident on upper lip. Collect those, would you?” he motioned to one of the attendants who quickly brushed the matter into a small evidence bag. :  
  
Continuing –“ Grissom pointed, “Chest is definitely unremarkable, hands and forearms likewise, except for muffin fragments on the right palm and fingers. Upper arms, Jesus H! Well, this one was a candidate for brachioplasty. Anywho. Moving on, gut huge, legs chicken sized, nothing remarkable here. Ted, Martha,” he said to the attendants. “Help me heave her over.”  
  
Grunting, the three managed to position Elly Patterson’s corpse on its side. “Here we go,” said Grissom. “Well, this is pretty obvious – stab wounds to the back, towards the midline, somewhat above a hideous pair of mudflaps. My guess is the renal artery was severed, but we’ll know more when we open her up.”  
  
Just then Luggsworth’s cell phone, set on vibrate, went off. “Excuse me Doc,” he said to Grissom. “I’ve got a call. Be right back.”  
  
He stepped out into the hall and flipped open his phone. “Luggsworth,” he said curtly.  
  
“GOSH AND BEGORRAH!” Paddy O’Gallagher bellowed. “Tis’ yeer partner here! I’m after tellin’ ye that the son and his wife are here now. We got them in separate rooms, just like ye said but I’m after wondering, they have their two children with them, where shall we be putting them?”  
  
“They can stay with their mother,” Luggsworth replied evenly. “Has Moira Kinney sobered up enough to talk yet?”  
  
“Sure and she has. Shall I be takin’ a statement from her then?”  
  
“Yes, but I’ll want to talk to her too, so don’t be sharing the contents of your hip flask with her, rookie. I’ll be back in a while, Doc’s doing the autopsy right now.”  
  
“Ah, tis a shame to be cuttin’ open the poor woman,” Paddy mourned.  
  
Jesus, how did he ever get into the academy? Luggsworth wondered to himself. “Just go talk to Moira Kinney, rookie, I’ll be there when I get there.” He snapped the phone shut and went back in.  
  
Grissom was already well into the exam, having made the classic Y-shaped incision and begun the internal exam. “… heart, surprised there is one, and lungs appear to be normal though we’ll section to look at them microscopically. Stomach enlarged and shock, awe, surprise, full of something.” He freed the offending organ and handed it to an attendant. “Open that up for me, Ted. Okay, we can see that the abdomen is full of blood – yes, the renal artery’s severed. She bled out.”  
  
“I’ve got it open, Doc” Ted called from across the room.  
  
“Let’s take a look,” Grissom replied, striding over, students and Luggsworth in his wake. “Oh, for chrissakes. Look at that!” he motioned towards the stomach. “Well, kids, looks like we have carbohydrate soup in here – what’s it weigh, Ted?”  
  
“About 2 kilograms, Doc. 4.6 lbs”  
  
“ An empty stomach usually weighs about 12 ounces so it looks like Porkella had more than three pounds of food in her stomach when she died.” He poked around the contents. “Carbs break down quickly when they hit the stomach acid, still, looks like a piece of Danish, what might be muffin and …”  
  
“Wait, what’s that smell?” Luggsworth broke in.  
  
“What smell?” Doc asked. The students, except for two looked quizzically at Luggsworth.  
  
“I can smell it,” one student said.   
  
“Me too,” chimed another.  
  
“Bitter almonds,” Luggsworth said.  
  
Most poisons are odorless when absorbed by the body. Except for one, and even then the ability to detect its characteristic scent of bitter almonds is genetically determined, with a minority of the population able to detect it.  
  
Luggsworth and the two students were among the lucky few who could smell the odor of cyanide that wafted from the contents of Elly Patterson’s distended stomach.


	7. Mike an’ Dee

Luggsworth cursed under his breath as he drove back to the station. Jesus. What looked liked a simple stabbing a few hours ago had morphed into a nightmare.  
  
“Can’t tell you what killed her at this point, Brad,” Grissom had told him. “She definitely bled out from the severed renal artery and it appears she may have been poisoned with cyanide but we won’t know which actually killed her until we run some tests. That’ll take a few days.”  
  
“Can’t you speed it up?” Luggsworth demanded.  
  
“We’ll try, but it’s going to take a few days. The blood, her tissues – all of it was full of fat globules, probably from all that friggin’ butter she ate. We’re going to have to do a separate purification step on the samples to get rid of it before we can tell if the cyanide made it into her bloodstream.”  
  
“What about the muffin she had in her hand?”  
  
“Same problem. There was a single bite mark, but the thing had to have at least a stick of butter on it. Well, CSI will work their magic. There’s something else – something strange about those stab wounds. I’ve never seen any quite like them. If you’re going to stab someone in the back it’s usually the upper back. These are pretty low – and for the life of me, I can’t tell if they were done with the left or the right hand.”  
  
Damn, Luggsworth muttered to himself, easing into his parking space. Two possible modes of death, ambiguous stab wounds. In death, as in life, Elly Patterson was proving to be one gigantic hemorrhoid.  
  
Now for Mike Patterson. The left side of Luggsworth’s mouth twitched upward in an involuntary lopsided grin. It wasn’t professional, it wasn’t, he supposed, very nice – but he was looking forward to this.  
  
“Where?” he asked the desk sergeant.   
  
“Patterson’s in two, the wife is in one,” came the reply.  
  
Luggsworth headed towards Interrogation Two with a purpose – only to be interrupted by a tiny, rotund woman with coke bottle glasses and an attitude.  
  
“OY VEY SCHMUTZIGES GEPLOOFEN MIKVAH SCHRY!” shrieked the apparition. This ball of Yiddish wrath, Luggsworth hazarded a guess, had to be Lovey Saltzman, Mike an’ Dee’s wonderfully eccentric Jewish landlady.  
  
“Can I help you ma’am?” Luggsworth asked politely.  
  
“I’ll say can you help me! What the mikfoorfen meshuggeneh hell do you think you’re doing, bringing that poor boy here?”  
  
“We have to question everyone, ma’am.”  
  
“I’ll tell you from questioning, you bonditt! He didn’t kill her! You could never find a boy more in love with his mother than Michael Patterson! Schah!”  
  
Luggsworth stifled a laughed, and arranged his face into a suitably serious expression. “Mrs. Salzman, no one said Mike killed anyone. It’s routine to question the immediate family, if anything to eliminate them as suspects. Also, they can often give us a good idea of the victim’s habits and whereabouts, all of which can help us find the murderer. Now if you’ll excuse me …”  
  
At that moment, an oddly-featured young man walked over to Lovey’s side. “Come on man, he’s right. Let the man do his job, man.”  
  
“Hi, Weed,” Luggsworth said.  
  
“Ole, man,” Weed replied sadly. “Man, poor Mrs. P. Poor Mike!”  
  
Luggsworth nodded and walked off, shaking his head. But. Thank God Lovey Salzman hadn’t remembered or recognized him. After all, he’d been a regular visitor to the apartment and … never mind. Later.  
  
Interrogation Two. Time to roll.  
  
Mike Patterson’s head flew up as Brad Luggsworth kicked open the door.  
  
“Hello, Michelle,” Luggsworth roared with laughter as Mike’s hands flew around to the back of his pants in an involuntary protective gesture.  
  
“Brad!” Mike whispered, horrified.  
  
“We meet again, after all these years. Sorry it had to be under such sad circumstances.”  
  
Mike’s eyes filled with tears at the reminder. “I can’t believe mommy’s gone!” he whimpered. “Oh, golly, Brad, who could have killed her?”  
  
“Well, let’s find out, Michelle. Where were you last night?”  
  
“Home,” Mike answered, oblivious to the implications. “I got home around five. Deanna had dinner ready and waiting, like she always does.”  
  
“What did you eat?” Luggsworth asked casually, hiding the rush of emotion he felt at the thought of his beloved forced to wait on this idiot.  
  
“Chicken and boiled carrots. Dee cut them into coins, like … like … my mom always did!” promptly dissolving into tears.  
  
Luggsworth gave him a minute. “Okay. After dinner?”  
  
“Weed an’ me went to a fern bar and we each had a Brandy Alexander.”  
  
“What time was that?”  
  
“About five thirty. Then we went home an’ I wrote until midnight, over at Weed’s. I used to have a study in the attic, but the kids kept making noise an’ Dee kept interrupting me so I started writing over at Weed’s again. I have a column in the Burlington Weekly Shopper, you know. It’s due tomorrow. It was on getting the ski lodge feeling in the city, but … I’m gonna rewrite it. It’s gonna be a tribute to … to …”  
  
“To your mommy,” Luggsworth finished. “That’s nice, Michelle, but where was Weed during this time?”  
  
“He was out with Carleen, that’s his girlfriend.”  
  
Does she know you’re the other woman? Luggsworth though sarcastically. But then, who was he to judge?   
  
“What time did you go home? Did anyone see you leave? Did … Deanna see you come home?”  
  
“About midnight. Weed wasn’t home yet, Dee was still asleep.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Having just been mowed down by the Clue Train, Mike’s eye’s widened and he glared at Luggsworth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I’ll tell you, Michelle,” Luggsworth said, eyes narrowing. “It means you don’t have an alibi for most of the night.”  
  
“You … you … jerk!” Mike spluttered in impotent rage. “I know what you’re trying to say! And it’s not true!”  
  
“Isn’t it?” Luggsworth shouted. Like a serpent striking, he quickly licked the tip of his index finger and inserted it in Mike’s tender ear. “WET WILLIE!”  
  
“OW!” Mike cried. “You foob!” This last earned him a bitch slap upside the head. Quick, painful, but on the side of the head where any marks would be hidden by Mike’s luxurious hair. “Ow, ow, ow!!!” Mike sobbed.  
  
“Whatever, Michelle,” Luggsworth affected an air of boredom. “I’m done with you for now. Don’t go anywhere without telling me. I’m going to want to talk to you again.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mike replied indignantly. “I have to help my dad make the … arrangements. Oh … _Mommy_!” he cried, his slender chest heaving.  
  
“Pussy,” Brad sneered under his breath as he took his leave of Michelle Boogerson.   
  
He supposed he should go interrogate Deanna. But he just couldn’t. Not now, with the image of that spineless wuss she’d chosen to marry, when she could have married him. That useless sack of shit she’d chosen to stay with, even after … no. He couldn’t face her just then.  
  
Fate threw him a bone, a large, drunken Irish bone in the form of Paddy O’Gallagher, lumbering towards him.  
  
“O’Gallagher!”  
  
“Faith, and how can I be helpin’ ye?” boomed the Irish cop, the broken veins on his nose glistening in the fluorescent light.”  
  
“Go question the wife. I’m going to go question Moira Kinney.”  
  
“Sure and I will!” chortled Paddy, thrilled to be charged with such an important task. He turned smartly on one heel and danced a jig towards Interrogation One.  
  
Faith and he must be trustin’ me now, Paddy thought to himself … never realizing that it was a broken heart and not admiration for Paddy’s detective skills which earned him this privilege.


	8. The obituary

Luggsworth kicked off his shoes, leaned back in his recliner and popped open an ice-cold beer. God, what a day. Quarter-past eleven and he’d just got home after a long day investigating the murder of a woman the world was better off without.  
  
The interview with Moira Kinney was especially unproductive. Still somewhat tipsy after a cooking-wine binge, smelling faintly of rancid chicken fat from her failed coq-au-vin-in-a-crockpot experiment, Kinney had done almost nothing but protest her innocence.  
  
“I didn’t do it!” she’d blubbered. “I didn’t kill that bitch, I swear!”  
  
“But you don’t have a real alibi, Moira,” Brad had told her in a reasonable voice. “Elly Patterson was probably killed sometime between 7 and 9 PM. You just told me no one saw you during that time because you were home alone, trying to make a perfect meal in a slow cooker.”  
  
“Crockpot,” Kinney corrected him. “You have no idea how difficult it is. But I didn’t kill Elly! I saw her for a few minutes around five, when I left and she came in for her usual hour-long shift. Then I went home.”  
  
“Hour-long shift?”  
  
Moira Kinney had sighed, and shifted slightly in her chair. “Yeah, she never worked more than one or two hours at a time. To hear her talk she was at the store all day, every day. But she wasn’t. She’d drop that little cokehead daughter of hers off at school and pretend she came straight to the store. I don’t know what she did with her day, but she almost never came in before five. Then she’d work till six, close up, go home and pretend she’d worked all damn day and was so tired blah blah blah. But it was Beatrice and I who did most of the work.”  
  
Ah, well, Luggsworth thought to himself as he drained his first beer and opened another. Moira Kinney was a viable suspect simply by virtue of having suffered under Elly Patterson’s unique management style. Still, his gut feeling was that Kinney had nothing to do with it. He’d arranged for a search warrant for her apartment, along with the Patterson homestead, Liz and Anthony’s house as well as Mike and … Deanna’s place, all of which would be executed in just a few hours. Hopefully a blood-stained knife or some cyanide would turn up in one of those places.  
  
Deanna. The beer was making it harder and harder for him to push aside thoughts of his lost love. He stared morosely at the wall as unbidden memories swamped him. The chance meeting with her when she was engaged to what’s-his-face, which led to a torrid affair. Their trip to Honduras, and the spiritual, if not legally binding marriage conducted by a village elder. How she’d had to go back to Canada, “Just for a few months, Brad!” and how he eventually followed her back, determined to discover why she’d stayed away.  
  
Oh God. He cracked open another beer. Maybe, just maybe if he got drunk enough he could forget. Forget that he’d come back to find her engaged to another “man” – Michelle Boogerson. Forget how he’d pleaded with her to explain, to tell him _why_, and that last grand night of passion before she married that pussy, all to no avail …  
  
The morning sun filtering through the dirty windows of his living room woke him up. Rubbing his eyes, Luggsworth stretched and groaned. No, this wasn’t the first time he’d woken up in his Laz-E-Boy with a hangover, but he’d have to pull it together. There was work to be done.  
  
Opening his front door, he picked up the morning paper. Taking it to the kitchen he scanned it while waiting for the coffee to brew. Ah, yes, there it was, a small item about the murder on page 8, right underneath a large article about the Milborough Garden Club’s Fall Flower Festival.  
  
\-------------------------  
**Local Woman Slain**  
By  
Jahnis Gleever, Staff Writer  
  
Milborough Police reported yesterday that they currently have no suspects in the murder of Eleanor Patterson, a Milborough resident and owner of Lilliput’s Bookstore.  
  
Patterson, 54, of Sharon Park Drive was found dead in her place of business early Tuesday morning by an employee. According to police, the cause of death remains undetermined although, according to Junior Detective Padraic M. O’Gallagher, “We’re treatin’ this as a foul murder, sure and we are!”   
  
Police further reported that they are developing several leads and hope to have the case solved as soon as possible.  
\-------------------------  
  
That was all. Luggsworth poured himself a cup of coffee and took the paper out to the dining nook. He flicked over to the obituary section – yes, there it was. Elly Patterson’s obituary was considerably grander than the tiny news item about her murder. Half a page long, with a large photo, apparently a recent one. Three-quarters profile, chin dipped in what appeared to be a failed attempt at coquetry. Glasses pushed down as far as they could go on that bulbous nose, hair in a matronly bun, a half smile, and an inscrutable expression.   
  
Luggsworth studied the picture intently. There was something in Jelly Patterson’s expression in that portrait, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Shaking his head, he began to read her death notice.  
  
\-------------------------  
**Eleanor Patterson, 54**  
  
Eleanor (Richards) Patterson, 54, of Milborough died unexpectedly Monday evening. She was the wife of Dr. John Patterson, who is a dentist.  
  
‘Elly’ Patterson was know for her long-lasting, loving devotion to her wonderful family which includes her beloved ‘sonny-boy’ Michael (Deanna) Patterson and his children Meredith and Robin, all of Toronto, daughters Elizabeth (Anthony) Caine and April Patterson, her father Jim Richards and his wife Iris, all of Milborough and brother Phil (Georgia) Richards of Quebec . She was also the daughter of the late Marion Richards, who died.  
  
In addition to being a loving wife, wise mother, devoted daughter and sister, ‘Elly’ was also a wonderful grandmother whose philosophy of ‘time, not presents’ endeared her to her two adoring grandchildren who preferred that sort of thing to what their other grandmother does all the time. Daughter Liz regrets that her first child, the unborn Howard or Howardina Caine and her stepdaughter Francoise will not experience this same loving, but firm treatment.  
  
‘Elly’ originally planned a career in graphic arts, but abandoned this in favor of motherhood and marriage, not in that order of course, when she met and married John Patterson while at University because he was still in school and someone had to pay the bills until he got his dentist degree. Later, after raising most of her children to adultness, this brave and courageous woman bought Lilliput’s Bookstore from Lily Petrucci and worked many hours each day to build up the business, instituting author’s circles and things like that which wasn’t an easy thing to do. Her employees all liked her a lot.   
  
‘Elly’ was well known in Milborough and probably some other places for her open and accepting attitude towards people who were different and not like everyone else. She personally knew Natives and ate Indian Tacos at a real pow-wow, and a retarded girl, Mr. Singh and two gay men who were homosexuals. None of this ever bothered her.  
  
Finally, ‘Elly’ was a devoted and patient pet owner to Edgar, Dixie (who is really Grandpa’s dog but still) and Butterscotch as well as the late Farley and Mr. B. Oh and Liz’s pussycat Shiimsa who moved in when Liz got married because Anthony’s allergic to pussies. ‘Elly’ also leaves many devoted friends who will miss her ‘punny’ sense of humor.  
  
The funeral will be held Friday at 10 AM. Visiting hours are Thursday, 4PM to 8PM at Johnston’s Funeral Home. Flowers expected.  
\-------------------------  
  
Luggsworth wiped away a tear of mirth. Run-on sentences, bizarre construction, nonsensical asides … no doubting who wrote the obituary. He made a mental note to give Tom Alberston, editor of the Milborough Gazette, a ration of shit for letting Mikey embarrass himself like that. Although, Luggsworth supposed, it was probably just Tom’s way of getting posthumous revenge on Elly for making him hire Mike as an intern that disastrous summer. Luggsworth was just surprised Tom had bothered to spellcheck it.


	9. Brad and Lovey

Luggsworth flicked on his blues and headed down the highway towards Toronto. Funny thing about this road – sometimes it seemed like it took just a few minutes to reach the city, other times it was hours away.   
  
Toronto PD would be waiting at Mike an’ Dee’s place, ready to execute the search warrant. Technically Milborough PD had no jurisdiction outside of city bounds, but Toronto’s Chief – Luggsworth’s former boss and drinking buddy – readily acceded, for old time’s sake, to Luggsworth’s request to personally supervise the search.  
  
Normally the place where Deanna lived her life with another man would be the last place Luggsworth wanted to be. But Deanna and her husband Michelle were ensconced at Sharon Park Drive back in Milborough, along with the rest of the Canadian Joads. So, he’d sent Tom Kwang, that polite new Asian detective, to Sharon Park Drive, O’Gallagher and his hip flask to Moira Kinney’s place, and Rosita Perez, a hot-tempered Puerto Rican detective with attitude, to Elizabeth’s.  
  
Not that he was expecting them to find much. Kinney’s search was a mere formality. Chances were her story was perfectly true; after a long day of keeping Elly Patterson’s business afloat Kinney had gone home, gotten drunk and passed out on the floor per usual. Luggsworth had pulled activity logs for police and fire and found that the FD had responded to at least three minor crockpot-related fires at her apartment in the last year. All of which had been phoned in by a very drunk Moira Kinney, which lent credence to her story.   
  
He doubted they’d turn up much at Sharon Park Drive, either. April’s alibi checked out, as did John Patterson’s. They’d been seen at Le Petite Navet and then at the cinema by several people who knew them well, none of whom had noticed anything out of the ordinary, at least in terms of bloodstained clothing although many commented on the good dentist’s inordinate interest in his youngest daughter and April’s frequent trips to the restroom and constantly running nose. Liz – maybe. Hard to say. He stood by his gut feeling that Liz was just too dumb to stab anyone without eviscerating herself in the process, but there was that husband of hers, an unknown – if a trifle elderly – quantity.  
  
He didn’t have much hope that he’d find anything at Mike an’ Dee’s place either. This case was shaping up to be a real bitch. Just interviewing everyone who hated Elly Patterson in Milborough alone would take months, the lab was still trying to determine the number and type of pastries in her stomach contents, and frankly, he didn’t much care who’d killed her. He remembered the time when he’d spent a month in the States, as part of a police exchange program between Toronto and Bucksnort TN. It was there he’d first heard “so-and-so needed killing” as both a valid legal defense and a perfectly fine reason to close a murder investigation.  
  
He wished Canada were so enlightened. Still, the job was his life. He really believed in the work, in the idea that cops were there to protect the public and punish the guilty. Without this faith, this absolute belief in his work as more than a paycheck he’d have nothing.  
  
Today was one of those days where one could leave Milborough and arrive in the outer suburbs of T-town in fifteen minutes. He cruised up the street toward the house he knew so well. Several detectives and uniforms were on the porch, waiting …  
  
… with a short, rotund, seriously pissed-off Wonderfully Eccentric Jewish Landlady.  
  
“MESHUGGENEH!” she screeched and vaulted off the porch, making a bee-line towards Luggsworth. “Didn’t I tell you to leave that dear boy alone? OY! Now I come here because those Kelpfroths call me and say I got cops here to search mir property! I need this tsures like I need a hole in my head! I’m gonna call my lawyer and sue your tuchis into the …”  
  
“You know,” Luggsworth interrupted. “You remind me of someone.”  
  
“This is what to do with mir?” Lovey demanded.  
  
“There was this big case out in B.C., Victoria. A woman who went by the name Lana Glatzman advertised herself as a professional Yenta, hooking up nice Jewish boys and girls out of a suite in the Empress,” he continued conversationally, noting with pleasure the quiver of fear which coursed through Lovey’s unnaturally large lips. “Turned out she was running a prostitution ring. Ended up serving three years, moved away after that.”  
  
“I … I” faltered Lovey.  
  
“So, Lana, I suggest you zip that gaping lip of yours and get out of my way. Now.”  
  
“How did you know? Did that bitch Elly Patterson tell you?!”  
  
Interesting.  
  
“No,” he replied evenly. “I’ve got a buddy out there; he worked on the case and told me all about it, describing the suspect as a Wonderfully Eccentric Jewish Madam who liked to scream at cops in Yiddish. I just put two and two together. You say Elly Patterson knew about your past?”  
  
Lovey glanced at the cops on the porch. Satisfied that no one was within earshot, she leaned towards Brad and whispered, “She come to me a few months ago, when Deanna and Mike wanted to buy a house and told me I’d better rent them the bigger apartment for the same rent or she’d see to it everyone knew about my … past. ‘Now Lovey,’ says that bitch, ‘I want you to be very sure my son stays right where he is and doesn’t accept that terrible Mira’s offer of a house!’ Mira’s Deanna’s mother, you know.”  
  
“I know,” Luggsworth replied.  
  
“I don’t know how she knows, but there she is, threatening me. So what can I do? I kick out the old tenants, the wife had terminal cancer and begged me to let them stay but I tell them to go, and I rent it to Mikey for half the price I could normally get. Ach!” she sobbed. “I just wanted them gone but that horrible woman, she made me do it!”  
  
“It’s okay,” Luggsworth said soothingly, patting her on the shoulder. “Elly Patterson hurt a lot of people.”  
  
“These people!” she cried. “You don’t know from the hell I’ve been through! Dee, I like, but that fruit she married!”  
  
“Yes, it’s a terrible thing,” he replied absently. “If you’ll excuse me, we need to go inside now.”  
  
Through the front door and taped-off foyer, past peeping eyes from the door of the old apartment he knew so well. Up the stairs and into the new place. Stuffy, even in the middle of fall, no air conditioning. Cheap carpets and furniture. The smell of pee and sour milk. Just what you’d expect a struggling young couple to be living in.  
  
“You guys search here,” Luggsworth said. “I’ll take the attic.” The attic, he knew from reading O’Gallagher’s notes from his interview with Dee, was Michelle’s little hideaway.   
  
He was expecting wood floors, dust motes and bare beams and thus was totally surprised by the sybaritic atmosphere and luxurious appointments. An expensive oriental carpet stretched diagonally over a hardwood floor. A leather couch and plasma-screen TV in the corner, a small kitchenette complete with a keg fridge on opposite wall. A Febreeze Scent Stories unit gently puffed wisps of fragrance into the air from its place on the enormous wood desk while an A/C gently hummed in the window. A door at the far end led to a small, but well-appointed bathroom.  
  
“That sonofabitch!” Luggsworth muttered, itching to wrap his hands around Mike Patterson’s neck. Keeping Dee and her kids cooped up in that pisshole while he wallowed in luxury upstairs! He stormed over to the desk and began to angrily yank out drawers. Nothing. A sheaf of papers by the printer caught his eye. Picking them up he began to read. No, no evidence – just a draft for Mike’s Mirthful Meanderings. Or what other people would consider a draft, Luggsworth himself had no doubt it was the end product of several days of concerted mental effort on Michelle’s part.  
  
\-------------------------  
**Fighting Foyer with Foyer!**  
By   
Michael (Mike) Patterson  
  
Frusstrated felicitazions from foob central folks the missus and I have a bit of a situation here noxious, nosy neighbors who are quick on the trigger with the ole broomstick, Ouch, ha ha.  
  
No, were not having a sweepoff though I sure wish those people who rented this place before us had, you know used the broom before they left because it took Dee like eight hours to clean up after them. Nor do I mean that they’re quick on their broomsticks like a witch would be, flying out of here even though meaan like they are they are sure like witches and the wife who I will call Kinnie Welpfroth kinda looks a little like a witch if you squint and her husband who I will call Kelville Melpfroth looks sorta like a toad if toads smoked big stinky nasty cigars and maybe even cigarettes sometimes even though smoking’s real;ly bad for you and it makes my kids cough and all even though I can’t really smell it up here in my atic garet.  
  
Anyways, this one time they started pounbding on the ceiling and told us to get the kids stuff out of the hall so I taped off the foyer and told them to stay on they’re side or else even though Dee cried and said Mike please dont I have to be here all day with th4se people please dont annoy them you stay at work all day and in the attic all night you dont know what its like please please dont do this to me please, still I just told her to stuff it and taped away …  
\-------------------------  
  
There was more, but Luggsworth’s eyes hurt. He made a mental note to find out just how an illiterate fuck like Mikey got himself a column in anything short of a free account on a blogger site. He suspected the pudgy hand of Elly Patterson might just possibly be involved.  
  
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, the doorknob rattled. Luggsworth turned, hoping it was one of the uniforms with something interesting to show him. The door swung wide, and Luggsworth found himself staring straight at Deanna Patterson.


	10. Stuff is cleared up,I guess

Deanna,” Luggsworth whispered.  
  
“Hello, Brad,” she replied softly. “It’s good to ‘see’ you again.”  
  
“What … what are you doing here?” he stammered. “I thought you were back in Milborough, at the house.”  
  
She sighed and looked down. “Michael told me to get my ‘butt’ over here and find his good suit. He wants me to take it to the cleaners so it will be ready for the ‘wake’ tomorrow.”  
  
“Why didn’t he come here himself?” Luggsworth spat through gritted teeth. “Why do you wait on him hand and foot? Why do you let him get away with this –“ he gestured towards the plasma screen TV and keg fridge. “Damnit, Deanna. I’ve never understood this whole situation. I want answers from you, and I want them _now_.”  
  
“Oh, Brad,” Deanna replied, her lush mouth quivering with emotion. “I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry about what ‘happened.’ But I _had_ to do it!” She burst into tears.  
  
Luggsworth sighed. Angry as he was with her, he couldn’t bear to see her cry. He took her by the arm, and led her to the sofa and let her cry it out.  
  
As soon as her tears had subsided to the occasional hiccup he got up, gave her a glass of spring water from Michelle’s kitchenette and began to question her gently. “Okay, you said you had to do it. What does that mean?”  
  
“Well,” she sniffed. “You know that when I left ‘Honduras’ I was only going to be away for a month or two. Just long enough to collect the donated medical supplies we used in our clinic, remember?”  
  
“Yes, and two months turned into six months and the next thing I know, I come back here to find you’re engaged to Mike Patterson. What the hell, Deanna!”  
  
“I know!” she sobbed afresh. “But I didn’t have a ‘choice!’ I wanted to marry you, Brad, not Mike!”  
  
“Well, Jesus Christ, why did you marry that pussy?”  
  
“It was his ‘mother!’” she shouted. “Elly Patterson _made_ me marry Mike!”  
  
“How?” he whispered, stunned though not fully surprised.  
  
“That … that … awful ‘woman’ was blackmailing me. You remember how you, Mike and I all went to school together and I didn’t see any of your for years after we moved? Then there was the car accident …”  
  
“Yes … I was the investigating officer. That’s how we met,” he replied, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.  
  
“Yes. And Mike showed up and took ‘pictures’ of my wrecked car and bloodied face. I never told you, Brad, but he asked me out just as they were loading me into the ambulance. Obviously I had no interest in dating that little ‘freak’ so I lied and told him I was engaged. Then, after I got out of the hospital you and I started dating, then we moved to Honduras together to help the poor and oppressed indigenous peoples ...”  
  
“I know,” he broke in. “But what the hell does this have to do with Elly Patterson?”  
  
“Well,” she sighed. “Apparently Mike fell in ‘love’ with me as soon as he saw my broken and bleeding body hanging out of my car, and decided he wanted to marry me no matter what. So he did what he always does when he wants something, he went to that ‘psychobitch’ mother of his!”  
  
She took a sip of water. “When I came back from Honduras, she tracked me down. She … I don’t know how she found this out, Brad, but somehow she discovered that my dad had a ‘gambling’ problem. It was really bad – to the point where he was going to lose the house and the store, ‘everything’ they’d worked for! He’d stopped, he was getting counseling and hasn’t gambled since, but he was in so much trouble.”  
  
“I think I know where this is going,” Luggsworth said, almost to himself.  
  
“That bitch was the one who set my ‘dad’ up, Brad! She paid some guy to gamble with dad, and she was the one he owed all that money to! She told me that if I didn’t do what she wanted, she’d see to it that my family ‘lost’ everything. I told her I didn’t even like Mike, and there was no way we’d ever be happy but she had this bizarre thing about your first love being your only love. I told her, ‘Jesus, Elly, we were like eight years old! Mike was never my boyfriend!’ But she wouldn’t listen.”   
  
Deanna paused, wiped her eyes with the back of one hand and continued, “She told me, ‘Listen Deanna, my boy wants a wife and that’s that. I expect you to set it up so you accidentally run into him, tell him you broke that ‘engagement,’ date him for a while, get married and start making me some grandchildren!’”  
  
Luggsworth flinched at the thought. Just then, his cell phone went off, rescuing him from thoughts he didn’t want to have. “Excuse me a second, Dee,” he said, rising and going out to the attic stairs.  
  
“Luggsworth,” he said shortly.  
  
“Brad, it’s Doc Grissom here,” said the Milborough ME. “I’ve got some results for you.”  
  
“Let’s hear them,” Luggsworth replied.  
  
“Well, the stomach contents revealed the following. Approximately 160 grams of glazed donut, 120 grams of chocolate chip cookies, 200 grams of cheese Danish, 340 grams of a bagel of undetermined origin, and 5 grams of blueberry muffin. And the equivalent of seven sticks of butter, mixed in there with all that. Possibly some cream cheese from the bagels and of course, eight litres of a light brown fluid consistent with skim-milk latte”  
  
A dissonant clang of alarm sounded in Luggsworth’s head. “Only five grams of blueberry muffin?” he demanded. “That’s not possible, doc. There’s no way Elly Patterson went a whole day with eating just five grams of muffin.”  
  
“There’s more, Brad. While we found cyanide distributed in small amounts throughout the stomach contents, the greatest concentration was in the muffin fraction. In addition, that fragment was largely intact, hadn’t been digested at all. Plus, we found no sign of cyanide in her bloodstream or tissues.”  
  
“So,” Luggsworth replied slowly. “That means she ate the muffin just before dying. And it never went further than her stomach”  
  
“Yep. Probably because she had so much crap it there, it never had a chance to get into her bloodstream. We tested the muffin we pried out of her paws, loaded with potassium cyanide. Anyway, the official cause of death is exsanguination from the stab wounds. The odd thing is the angle – they appear to have been inflicted straight on, not from above or below, by a sharp, medium blade knife.”  
  
“Hmmm,” Luggsworth mused. “That could be important.”  
  
“Thought you’d want to know. I’ll have the official report done by the end of the week.”  
  
“Thanks, Doc,” Luggsworth said. “Talk to you later.”  
  
He clicked his phone shut and went back in. Deanna was still sitting on the couch, holding her head in her hands.  
  
“Okay, Dee, let’s continue,” he said, unconsciously falling into his cop routine.  
  
“I went ‘along’ with it for a bit,” she sighed. “I figured if I could just date him for a bit, he’d get tired of me and dump me. But it didn’t happen. Then I tried to run way, back to Honduras with that ‘friend’ of mine. I thought I could sneak away, run back to you. But Elly found out, I think she had spies planted there, watching me. I found a deck of cards on my cot one night, with ‘For better or for worse!’ written on the joker card. So, I came back, and you know the rest.”  
  
“I wish,” Luggsworth said heavily, clasping her to him. “I wish you had just told me this the night before you got married. Or that other time … I could have helped you, Deanna. I would have arrested that bitch for extortion. You could have avoided all this, you wouldn’t have had to marry that freak, or have … his kids.”  
  
Deanna pushed away slightly so she could look up at him. “I did marry Mike,” she said. “But I didn’t have ‘his’ children.”  
  
“What?” Luggsworth said, confused.  
  
“Merry and Robin aren’t Mike’s,” she said tenderly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “They’re yours.”


	11. Deanna’s tale

_What_?!” Luggsworth gasped. “Your kids … they’re _mine_?”  
  
“Yes, they are,” Deanna replied. “Merrie and Robin are ‘your’ children.”  
  
“But … how? How is that possible? I thought you were on the pill!”  
  
“Oh, God,” she sighed deeply. “Well, there’s a ‘story.’ I wasn’t.”  
  
“Why do I think you’re going to tell me Elly Patterson had something to do with this?” he asked, rubbing his temples as if in pain.  
  
“Of course she had ‘something’ to do with it. She wanted grandchildren, lots of them, and right away. Well, just being married to Mike was nightmare enough; I didn’t want to compound it by having kids with him. So, I basically ‘talked’ him into waiting for an indefinite period of time and I stayed on the pill.”  
  
She clenched her fists in anger. “I thought I could get away with it, but of course that bitch found me out. She came to one of my fittings for my wedding dress and while I was changing, went through my ‘purse’ and found my pills.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And she took them away and told me to stop taking them or else! I told her I’d convinced Mike to wait before having ‘kids’ and he was actually convinced we couldn’t afford them at that time. She just laughed and said, ‘Deanna, just tell Mike you were switching brands and wanted to let the old medication flush out of your system, silly girl!’”  
  
She got up and began to pace. “Can you ‘believe’ that? I mean, Jesus Christ … who in their right mind would do something like that? Anyone who’s ever been on the pill, hell, anyone who even just knows someone who was on the ‘pill’ knows there’s a _reason_ why you’re supposed to take the damned things every day!”   
  
“Well, duh!” Luggsworth interjected.  
  
“Right. First of all, you don’t have to let them flush out of your system! You’re supposed to start a new prescription the day after finishing the old one and even then it’s a good idea to use a ‘backup’ method for a month! Everyone knows that! Even if you did think you somehow needed to flush anything out, anyone with a grain of common sense would know to ‘abstain’ or use something else! Not only was she setting me up to be bred, she was making me look like a complete ‘fool’ in the process! I’m a _pharmacist_ for God’s sake!” she finished, taking a deep breath.  
  
“Still …” Luggsworth said. “Even so … I don’t doubt what you’re saying, Deanna, but I don’t understand how you can be sure they’re mine. I know there was the night before your wedding, and that time two years ago when we had the—“  
  
“The affair,” Dee finished for him.  
  
“Yeah,” Luggsworth said softly. “But even then … you and Mike … you were still, um together during both those times. He could be the father.”  
  
“Mike and I have never ‘had’ sex,” Dee told him.  
  
This knocked him for a serious loop. He jumped up, mouth agape, and then sat down abruptly. Dee joined him back on the couch, taking his hand in hers.  
  
“I … I …” Luggsworth faltered. “I don’t believe this!”  
  
“It’s true,” she assured him. “Oh, he thinks we have, but we ‘really’ haven’t.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“Well … Mike, he was a bit confused. He, um—” she pulled Luggsworth towards her and whispered in his ear.  
  
His eyes grew as round as a speed freak’s.  
  
“He … where? How could he mistake your … for your … I mean if you were talking about your … well, I could see _that_ but how could anyone mistake a … for a …” he stuttered in shock.  
  
“It’s nothing I haven’t asked myself, Brad,” she said seriously. “All I can think of is that Mike was a, well, you know, ‘virgin’ … I guess he still is, right? And he’s um; well, not very well ‘endowed,’ shall we say. I guess he figured he’d done the deed since everything ‘fit’ as far as he could tell and …”  
  
He stopped her. “Okay, enough, I don’t want to know any more about it. Oh my God,” To his surprise he was shaking. “I’m a father!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Brad,” she said softly. “All I ever wanted to do was marry you, build a life with you and all I’ve done is hurt you. Lied to you, kept your children from you … but I was so afraid!”  
  
“Afraid of Elly Patterson.” It wasn’t a question. He knew the answer.  
  
Deanna shuddered in reply. He moved towards her, intending to take her in his arms—  
  
Only to be interrupted by a uniform at the door.  
“Hey, Detective!” the young cop shouted. “We’ve found something!”  
  
“Stay here,” Luggsworth told Deanna. He followed the cop downstairs into the kitchen.  
  
“What is it?” Luggsworth demanded.  
  
“Two things. Look over at that wooden knife holder.”  
  
Luggsworth looked. Small wooden block, filled with a cheap, black-plastic handled set of six steak knives, a butcher’s knife, a serrated bread knife …  
  
… and an empty space where a medium-length knife should have been.  
  
“Damn,” muttered Luggsworth.  
  
“We went through all the drawers, Detective,” said the uniform. “We went through all the drawers and cabinets, no go on the missing knife. It’s not here.”  
  
“I just talked to the ME,” Luggsworth replied. “He said the cause of death resulted from the stab wounds and that they were probably inflicted with a sharp, medium-length blade – just like this missing knife. What else??  
  
“Here,” the uniform said, leading him to a small utility room off the kitchen. He pointed at a cheap metal cabinet. Luggsworth opened it.  
  
There on the middle shelf, behind a jumble of cast-off toys and galoshes was a small, unlabeled brown bottle filled with crystals of some sort. Quickly donning a pair of gloves, Luggsworth picked it up and opened it.  
  
The scent of bitter almonds wafted towards him, mingling with the stench of sour milk and baby pee.


	12. Brad and Mike have it out

Michelle Patterson sat on the toilet, quavering, thin knees pressed together. With one fluid motion, Luggsworth grabbed him by the collar and jerked him upright.  
  
“Hi Buhbuhbuhbrad,” Mike blubbered, ashen with fear. “What’s up?”  
  
“You bastard!” Luggsworth spat. “How could you do that to her?”  
  
“Do what to who?” Mike asked innocently.  
  
“Deanna! Your wife, you asshole!” Luggsworth shouted, delivering a series of quick slaps with one hand while holding him tightly by the neck with the other. Mike Patterson burst into tears.  
  
“I didn’t do anything to Deanna!” he protested. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”  
  
“You told your mother you wanted to marry her, assbag. And why did you do that? Because you knew there was no way you’d ever make it happen on your own. But mommy could make it happen, couldn’t she, Michelle? All your shit-miserable life you’ve run to that hag to get what you want. I’ve read your mother’s journals, asshole, and I must admit, it’s a fascinating story.”  
  
Mike’s tears continued to flow as Luggsworth shook him, Maytagging him around the stall. “Leave my mommy out of this!” Mike cried between collisions with the metallic walls.  
  
“The fuck I will!” Luggsworth roared. “That bitch spent all her time fixing shit for you, but those days are done. You were failing grade eight English and weren’t going to make grad; mommy found out your teacher was sleeping with the school janitor and blackmailed her into passing you. You failed your driving test, she planted heroin on the instructor. You want to marry Deanna; mommy blackmails her into marrying you.”  
  
Luggsworth forced Mike to his knees, head poised strategically over the toilet bowl. “And you wrecked her life, Michelle. Deanna was the sweetest, kindest, most honest person I knew, and you and that bitch mother of yours forced her into a life of lies!”  
  
“So what!” Mike shouted through his tears, eying the water with fear though grateful he hadn’t done his ‘business’ yet. “Big deal! I gave Deanna what every lady wants! A husband, children, and her own kitchen!”  
  
In response, Luggsworth pushed his head lower. “She wasn’t even a good wife!” Mike whined. “She was always crying and complaining that I wasn’t home, and that she and the kids were hot or cold and how come I got the nice attic study and how I yelled at her when she let the kids play with kitchen utensils!”  
Luggsworth reached for the handle.  
  
“Noooooo!” Mike sobbed. “No! Don’t!”  
  
Luggsworth had no pity for him. Mike’s body shook violently and he fought a rising wave of nausea as the toilet flushed and the water rose and swirled before his eyes. Luggsworth was as a man possessed as he flushed over and over, to the point where he might have drowned him if …  
  
“GOSH AND BEGORRAH WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THE BLESSED SAINTS ARE YE DOIN’?” roared Paddy O’Gallagher as he pulled Luggsworth away from the hapless Michelle Patterson.  
  
“Shut up, rookie,” Luggsworth snarled, as he straightened his coat. “I was just questioning Patterson here.”  
  
“Faith and that’s not what ye were after doin’!” O’Gallagher shouted. A quick glance at Luggsworth’s glowering face caused him to reconsider. “Ah. Well, sure and ye were questionin’ this lout of a maneen!” He turned and gave Mike a swift kick in the seat of his pants.  
  
“Ow,” Mike muttered.  
  
“Anyway,” O’Gallagher continued. “I was after findin’ ye to see if ye were after questionin’ Deanna Patterson now. She’s been sittin in there for …”  
  
“I’m on my way now,” Luggsworth muttered, turning to leave. Behind him he could hear Mike’s hiccupping sobs as O’Gallagher helped him to his feet.  
  
“I heard him!” Mike was saying. “He didn’t even wash his hands before he beat me up!”  
  
Luggsworth stalked down the hall towards Interrogation One. What the hell was happening to him? Ever since Deanna had abandoned him, the law was his life. He took it seriously, believing in truth and justice. It was all he had, and he took pride in it. Never before had he lost control so completely. Sure, he’d smacked a few suspects around in his time, but if O’Gallagher hadn’t come in when he did …  
  
He paused outside Interrogation One. Deanna sat alone, hands folded and head bowed. Well. Now or never. He took a deep breath and entered.  
  
“Deanna,” Luggsworth said.  
  
“Brad!” she exclaimed, half rising. “What is it? They said you wanted to … to ‘question’ me?”  
  
“There’s some things I need to ask you,” he said heavily. “Sit down.”  
  
She complied. He sat opposite her, studying her lush features. Finally, he spoke.  
  
“Deanna, we found Elly Patterson’s diaries during one of the searches. It appears she knew something was wrong between you and Mike. She wrote that she was going to talk to you on the day she died, right around the time she died.”  
  
Deanna said nothing.  
  
“Furthermore,” Luggsworth continued. “Winnie Kelpfroth says she saw you leave your house around six and come back at nine. She said you were visibly upset, crying. Finally, we found a bottle in your apartment, a bottle which appears to contain cyanide. Want to tell me about this?”  
  
Deanna sighed. “Yes. It’s ‘true.’ I saw Elly on the day she died. That is cyanide. But I swear, I didn’t kill her!”  
  
“I want to believe you, Deanna,” Brad told her. “But you’re going to have to give me more details. Convince me. When did you and Elly talk? What did she say?”  
  
“Well,” she replied. “We left the house around six. Mike was out ‘somewhere’, he’s never home, so I had the kids with me. I drove straight to Milborough; I got there around seven – strange thing about that road, sometimes it seems like it takes hours and other times—”  
  
“I know,” Luggsworth interrupted.  
  
“So. Elly told me Mike had come to her a few days before and asked her for her help, help in getting some more ‘freelance’ work. In case you haven’t figured it out, the only reason he has any kind of a journalistic career is because whenever he wanted a job or a freelance assignment, she blackmailed someone. He can’t even spell!”  
  
“I’d figured as much,” Luggsworth replied. “But what’s this got to do with why she wanted to talk to you?”  
  
“Well,” she said, beginning to tear up. “It’s like this. Elly had already gotten him his job at Portrait. Someone told him that people who write books have something called an ‘editor’ so he decided he wanted to be one, she arranged it. We saw a play, I made the mistake of saying it could have used a good ‘script doctor’ so he decided he wanted to do that, she arranged it. Mike was watching Sex and the City DVDs on that DVD player he’s got up in that little ‘palace’ of his, he decided he wanted to be a sex columnist and …”  
  
“… he went to her so she could arrange it,” Luggsworth finished.  
  
“Yes. Somehow, I guess, in the process of explaining it, he told her about … well, our ‘sex life.’ She figured it out, Brad, she figured out that the kids weren’t his. She called me on it, that’s what we talked about. She told me she was going to tell Mike, and that he would leave me. Not that I cared about that, of course. I was glad!”  
  
“Okay,” Brad said slowly. “That’s all well and good, Deanna. But this doesn’t explain the cyanide.”  
  
Deanna began to cry in earnest. Brad struggled with the desire to take her in his arms and comfort her, but resisted. Instead, he shoved a box of tissues towards her.  
  
“I didn’t want to tell you this, Brad,” Deanna sobbed, taking a tissue. “The ‘cyanide’ is mine. I bought it. I was going to kill her.”  
  
“Oh my God, Deanna,” he breathed. “No!”  
  
“Yes. I bought a blueberry muffin. I made up a ‘solution’ of cyanide, and injected it into the muffin. I was going to offer it to her. It had to end, Brad, but I couldn’t see any way out. I didn’t know then what she was going to tell me, but that bitch never called me without a good reason, the good reason usually being her forcing me into something. I figured she was going to tell me to ‘make’ her another grandchild. I couldn’t stand it any more!”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Luggsworth said. “Let’s backtrack a little. Where did you get the cyanide?”  
  
“I got it on eBay,” Deanna sniffled. “I stole Mike’s credit card. Of course the little bastard wouldn’t let me have one of my own, since I’m just a ‘woman’ and all.”  
  
“Of course,” Luggsworth said, eyes narrowing. “So … she confronted you and then what?”  
  
“I didn’t do it. I couldn’t. I had the bag with the muffin in it with me, sitting next to me on the counter. I just couldn’t ‘kill’ her, Brad, I couldn’t kill anyone … well, I heard what she had to say, I told her fine, she could do what she wanted. I picked up Robin, called to Merry, grabbed the bag and left. I threw it in the trash can in front of the store. We started walking up the street, I was such a ‘mess,’ I walked three blocks to where I’d parked the car, we left, we came home.”  
  
Luggsworth said nothing. Deanna glanced at him; his face told her he was not convinced.  
  
“Brad,” she said falteringly. “I know … I know I’ve ‘lied’ to you in the past. I know how this looks. Certainly, I had ‘motive’ and I just told you I planned to kill her. But I didn’t, I swear! I didn’t give her the ‘poisoned’ muffin, and I certainly didn’t stab her!”  
  
“Deanna – did you know that a knife was missing from a set found in your kitchen?” Luggsworth asked her in a quiet voice. “A medium-length, smooth bladed knife, similar to the one which killed Elly Patterson? She didn’t die from cyanide poisoning, you know. She bled to death from her stab wounds before the cyanide could kill her. Where’s that knife, Deanna”  
  
“I … I don’t know,” she whispered. “We’re always missing things like that. I haven’t been able to find my ‘carrot-chopping’ knife in a while, that must be the one that’s missing, things are always missing … I found my salad tongs in the bathroom once …”   
  
Another glance at his face. “Brad. I swear to you. I don’t know where the knife is. I was going to kill her but, I didn’t! I didn’t ‘poison’ her, and I certainly didn’t stab her!”  
  
He wanted to believe her. Oh God, he wanted more than anything to believe her, to tell her it would be okay. But it wasn’t okay. At a minimum, she was guilty of attempted murder, although if her story about throwing the bag away was true, it might reduce the charge to something less dire. But still … there was no proof. Milborough sanitation had picked up the trash sometime in the early morning hours, they’d checked the day they’d found that bitch’s lifeless corpse. The bag, if it existed, was now essentially un-findable. There were no witnesses. Just Deanna’s word.  
  
Unless … he searched the corners of his mind. A dim memory, a fragment of conversation came back to him.   
  
“…said the store’s security cameras caught everything, and she was going to call the cops!”  
  
He remembered now. Winnie Kelpfroth had told him Elly had her on tape. There were no security cameras at the store, at least not the usual kind. But wasn’t it possible that an experience blackmailer like Elly Patterson might have access to something a little more hidden?  
  
He rose precipitously.  
  
“Brad?” Deanna inquired fearfully.  
  
“You’re free to go, Deanna,” he told her, heading for the door. “There’s something I need to check out, something which might verify your story. Don’t say anything about this to anyone, not until I can see if my hunch is right.”  
  
He strode outside, and jumped in his car. Roaring out of the parking lot, he headed straight towards Lilliput’s Bookstore.


	13. The penultimate chapter

Brad Luggsworth sat, hunched forward on the edge of his Laz-E-Boy, gazing intently at his television where a grainy, black-and-white tape flickered on the screen. His gut feeling had paid off – he’d found the camera hidden in a hollowed-out copy of The Psychology of the Teenage Years: Why They Act Like That, hooked up to a cable which ran to a VCR, hidden in the ceiling tiles. He’d scooped the whole kit and caboodle, and brought it straight back to his house.  
  
Yes. There was Liz Patterson Caine, Francoise on her hip.   
  
He fast-forwarded. There were John and April Patterson, there was April handing her mother a cheese Danish.   
  
Fast-forward. There was Deanna …  
  
Liz Patterson Caine bustled around the small, but cheerful kitchen of her home. Humming to herself, she quickly finished the dishes – glassware first, then silverware, dishes and finally, the pots and pans! – left over from the nice, hot lunch she’d lovingly prepared for her husband. She looked through the kitchen pass-through, her gaze falling fondly on her dear husband who sat in his recliner, grumbling at something or other he was reading in the paper.  
  
How full and happy her life was now! But … as she polished the faucet with the dishcloth, memories of housekeeping lessons learned at her mother’s knee caught her by the throat.   
  
Sadly, she stared at the full dish rack. Oh, how she wished her mother were there! “I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Liz whispered mournfully. She wasn’t looking forward to the wake, which would be held in just a few hours.   
  
Still, it would be good to catch up with old friends – goodness, she hardly had time to see anyone nowadays, not since she’d married and gotten a home of her own! It would be difficult, but she was certain that seeing all of their friends, receiving their support, would help tremendously.  
  
Connie Poirier sat in her comfortable living room. Her son Lawrence and his boyfriend, Nick sat on the couch across from her.   
  
“So,” Nick said. “You’re going to the wake with us tonight, Connie?”  
  
“Yes,” she smiled. “I want to make sure she’s really dead.”  
  
Deanna Patterson stood in the middle of her bedroom, fresh from a long, hot shower, clad in her big, fluffy bathrobe. Her two children played quietly outside on the fire escape-cum-‘porch’ as she toweled her short blond hair.   
  
She looked at them, so young, so ‘innocent’ – what would they do without their mother? Who would protect them, look after them as well as she herself could? It was obvious that her time was running out. She couldn’t count on Brad to lie for her. He was too honest, too decent to refuse to uphold the ‘law’, even for the woman he loved.   
  
Sighing, she turned to her closet, searching for something suitable to wear to her late mother-in-law’s wake. She regarded her sparse, ‘discount-store’ wardrobe with dismay. This might be her last night as a free woman, and she wanted to look beautiful.  
  
She’d finished dressing, collected the kids from the ‘porch,’ herded them into their room and was dressing a reluctant and rambunctious Merry when she heard Mike come in, open the refrigerator door, slam it shut and head straight up to the attic, just as he ‘always’ did. She debated whether or not she wait for him, tell him to hurry up and get ‘dressed’ or he’d be late for his own mother’s wake. No. Fuck him. He could drive his own damned self there. She silently flipped the ‘bird’ to the ceiling then forced Merry’s left foot into its shoe.   
  
Mike Patterson threw himself down on the soft Corinthian-leather sofa in his attic hideaway, and popped open his diet coke. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Things were going from bad to worse. First, his mother was murdered, then that bully Brad Luggsworth beat him up and gave him the mother of all swirlies. But that wasn’t all.   
  
Inexplicably, within the space of a few hours that very morning, he’d been fired from his job at Portrait Magazine, lost his regular Mike’s Mirthful Meandering Column in the Burlington Weekly Shopper, shitcanned from his freelance editing position at that independent publishing house and was told by the Milborough Players that his script-doctoring services would no longer be required. Plus, his bum still hurt from where that Irish cop kicked him.   
  
He twisted around, trying to find a more comfortable position. “What the heck,” he muttered, feeling something hard pressing into his bony right hip.   
  
Groaning, he sat up and rooted around between the cushions. His fingers closed around something, carefully, he drew it out.  
  
“Oh, my gosh!” he gasped.  
  
April Patterson stood before her full length mirror, trying on a strapless formal. “Beckers,” she said. “Do u think I should wear this 2 the wake 2night?”  
  
“What-evah,” Becky McGuire replied scornfully from the bed where she sat, cross-legged. “It’s just ur mom. And u don't have the bosoms for that dress!”   
  
“But Gerald’s going to b there 2!” April protested. “I wanna look hot! And my dad sez I have a nice figure, u bitch!”  
  
“Maybe u should ask ur dad how u look, then!” Becky cackled, returning her attention to the hand mirror on which she was carefully chopping lines.  
  
John Patterson stood in his bedroom, dressed in a somber, dark blue suit and white shirt. His whistled cheerfully as he deftly knotted his tie. Just the wake tonight and the funeral tomorrow to get through, and he’d be done with his last obligations to Elly.  
  
Then he could be alone, alone with his little Princess. Free to eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner if he wanted, not boring, tasteless shit like chicken and couscous. He already had grand plans for his train set – the living room would make a perfect Winter Wonderland and the den a superb Fall Festival. That, with the Spring-vaganza in the garage and Summer Spectacular in the yard would fulfill his Ultimate Train Fantasy.  
  
And he could load the goddamned dishwasher any way he pleased. To be sure, he’d just loaded it with dishes rinsed, handles up not forty-five minutes before. But, so long as Elly was above ground, he felt he owed it to her to run the house as she’d always insisted.  
  
Plus – it was silly, he knew – he wouldn’t feel like she was really, _really_ dead until she was six feet under and composting.  
  
“Yooohooo! Princess!” he caroled, stepping out into the hall. “Time to go!”  
  
Johnston’s Funeral Home buzzed with light and activity. The parking lot was packed and cars filled the street in front of the establishment. A long line of people stood outside, waiting their turn to offer their condolences to the family and to view the corpse of Elly Patterson.  
  
Brad Luggsworth took shameless advantage of his flashing blues, pulled up to the funeral home and parked on the lawn. He sat there a moment, drawing a deep breath.  
  
He knew for sure just who killed Elly Patterson.  
  
It was all on tape. He’d taken care of the evidence. There was no going back, now.  
  
It was time to make an arrest.


	14. The arrest

Luggsworth strode across the lawn, towards the front door. Pushing his way through the laughing, chatting crowd, he approached the stairs of the low veranda that encircled the building. Just as he went to take his first step, however, he heard some giggling off to the side.  
  
Pushing aside a clump of shrubbery, he reached down and snatched away a straw and small, glass vial.  
  
“Thanks, ladies, I’ll take care of that,” he smirked at two figures crouched on the ground.  
  
“U douchebag!” April Patterson pouted.  
  
“Damn u Brad I got a ‘script 4 that u know!” shouted Becky MacGuire.  
  
Ignoring them, Luggsworth leapt up the stairs and headed for the door.  
  
“Hey Brad, I haven’t seen you in ages,” a tall, dark-haired, light-complected man greeted him. Seeing Luggsworth’s puzzled expression, the stranger offered, “I’m Lawrence, Lawrence Poirier. We went to school together, remember?”  
  
“Oh, man, Lawrence!” Brad exclaimed. “I didn’t recognize you … you look, um, different. When we were little kids you were pale, then you were this weird orange color and now you’re …”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Lawrence replied. “Now that Mrs. Pee is finally dead I can quit with the fake tan.”  
  
“The fake tan?”  
  
Lawrence sighed. “It’s a long story. Basically, that hag was on the verge of finding out that my biological father was actually Elly’s friend Anne’s husband Steve. Needless to say, my mom didn’t want that to come out, so she lied and said my dad was actually some Brazilian doctor, went out and bought a gallon of Sun-On Liquid Tan and sprayed me down with it.”  
  
“Uhh … okay, but why didn’t Jelly Patter… I mean Elly Patterson realize you were white one day and orange the next?”  
  
Lawrence shrugged. “She wasn’t too bright, I guess. Hey, sweetie!” he said as his boyfriend arrived and stood next to him. “Nick, this is Brad Luggsworth, an old school friend. Brad, this is my boyfriend Nick.”  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Luggsworth said, shaking his hand.  
“You too. Man, it’s like a party in there!” Nick exclaimed. “I’ve never heard anyone applauding at a casket before. Are you here to pay your respects?” he asked Luggsworth.  
  
“No. Official police business,” he replied. “There’s been a break in the case.”  
  
“Well, whoever did it deserves a medal,” Nick sniffed. “Although I suppose you’ll have to do the right thing and arrest them anyway.”  
  
“The law’s the law,” Luggsworth replied evenly. “Excuse me, guys, I’ve got to go inside now.”  
  
Pushing his way past crowds of people, Luggsworth forced his way into the main room. There was the casket, opened for viewing. Two lone bouquets of flowers sat near it, one bearing a ribbon stating “Wife,” the other, “Mother.” The corpse of Elly Patterson, unimproved by the heavy pancake makeup and clad in a hideous high-necked, long-sleeved purple dress slumbered coldly as visitors pointed and giggled. The family stood alone in a pathetic little line next to the coffin, oddly separated from the throng by a considerable space. John Patterson, Liz and her husband Anthony, Deanna and the kids … where was Mike Patterson?   
  
Luggsworth worked his way over to the family, and took Deanna aside. “I need to speak to you now. Alone,” he whispered.  
  
“Okay,” she nodded. “There’s a small ‘family room’ in back. We can be alone there.” Son on her hip and grasping her daughter by one small hand, she led the way.  
  
“Where the hell is Mike?” he asked as soon as they were alone together.  
  
“Either at ‘home’ or on his way here,” she replied, sitting down on a couch and releasing Merry’s hand. The toddler immediately began running in hysterical circles. “He got home ‘late’ and I didn’t feel like waiting for him, so I drove here myself. Did you … did you find out anything?” she asked hopefully, lush lips quavering ever so slightly.  
  
“I did,” he replied.  
  
“I didn’t do it, Brad,” she protested softly. “I don’t even ‘know’ who did!”  
  
“I know you didn’t do it, Deanna. I found a hidden camera in the bookstore. No one else knows it was there. It caught the whole thing on tape.”  
  
“Then … tell me, what ‘happened?!’”  
  
Brad Luggsworth sighed heavily. “Deanna, the tape showed you entering the store. There’s no sound, but you can tell that you and Elly Patterson were having a heated argument. Just like you said.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“And it showed you leaving the store, with the kids, and the bag with the poisoned muffin. Just as you said. That was your last appearance on the tape.”  
  
“But … then how …”  
  
“The tape goes on to show Elly Patterson leaving the store,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard her, “and coming back with the bag in her hand.”  
  
“Oh, my god...” Deanna exclaimed. “Did that greedy ‘witch’ dig the muffin out of the _trash_?!”1  
  
“That’s what it looks like, Deanna” he said. “She took it right out of the bag and was about to take a bite when the killer entered the store.”  
  
“But … who was it? Why won’t you just come out and say who it was?” she demanded.  
  
“Deanna,” he said slowly. “I hate to ask you this. But did you … was Meredith with you the whole time?”  
  
Deanna stared at the floor.  
  
“Answer me, Deanna.”  
  
“I … she’s always running off on me. I was parked a few blocks away. She left the store with me, but when I got to the car, she wasn’t there. I ran back, and found her just a little ways away from the store. I … I’m not a bad mother, Brad, she’s just so active and ….”  
  
“That’s the least of your worries, right now, Deanna.” he interrupted her.   
  
“Oh … my God,” Deanna whispered, her face ashen. “No. No!”  
  
“Meredith … come here for a minute,” Luggsworth called to the blond tyke. He knelt in front of her. “Merry,” he said gently. “Do you remember the last time you saw your grandmother Elly?”  
  
The little girl nodded vigorously. “In de store!”  
  
“Right. You and your mom and Robin were there. Then you all left. Did you go to the car with your mother, honey?”  
  
“No!” she shook her curly head. “Me go BACK! To de STORE! Want TOY!”  
  
“She must mean the display of Harry Potter toys Elly had out,” Deanna interjected. “She kept grabbing for them while I was talking to Elly.”  
  
“Okay, Meredith,” Luggsworth continued. “What happened when you went back to the store?”  
  
“I tell gwandma, want TOY! I tay, GIVE MEWWY TOY NOW GWANDMA!”  
  
“And what did grandma say, sweetie?” Brad asked quietly.  
  
“She say NO, MEWWY! NO TOY FOR GWANDKIDS! TIME! I spend TIME WIV GWANDKIDS! TOY are BAD! And she tay, YOU NO GAWNDKID ANYWAY SO DEFINITELY NO TOY FOR YOU, MEWWY! She tay, GO WAY, SPAWN OF UNKNOWN SIRE!”   
  
The blond cherub’s eyes filled with tears.  
  
“Then what?” Brad inquired.  
  
The little girl began to giggle. “So I tay, BAD! BAD GWANDMA! Then I go STABBY-WAB! KILLY-WILL! Den gwandma fall DOWN!”2  
  
“Oh, Jesus,” Deanna sobbed. “Merry! We don’t stab people when we’re mad at them! Bad girl!”  
  
“Gwandma BAD!” the tot repeated.  
  
Luggsworth rose to his feet. “She’s telling the truth, Deanna. She had a little purse with her, didn’t she? She drew a knife out of it and stabbed Elly right in the back.”  
  
“But … Merry,” Deanna cried. “Where did you get the knife?”  
  
“Daddy give,” the child said promptly. “He tay, since you mama let you play wiv pots and pans which is dangewous and make mess in nice house I pay for I give you knife and maybe dat bitch learn wesson dis time!”  
  
“That sonofabitch!” said Deanna, aghast.  
  
“Where’s the knife now, Merry?” Brad inquired.  
  
“I take back to house today and put in daddy woom,” she giggled. “In couch!”  
  
Just then, a commotion appeared to erupt from outside the room. In the blink of an eye, the door opened and the entire Patterson family burst in. Including a wild-eyed Mike Patterson.  
  
“Brad!” he shouted, as the funeral home crowd began to press into the room. “What do you have to say about _this_!” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdrew a knife, coated with dried blood.  
  
Luggsworth faced the family. “I’ve come here to make an arrest, people,” he announced. “The murderer of Elly Patterson is in this room.”   
  
The crowd buzzed excitedly.  
  
“There were two, separate attempts of her life,” Luggsworth said. “First, by cyanide poisoning, and secondly, by stabbing. While she ingested the cyanide, she actually died from the stab wounds.”  
  
“But, how can you tell?” asked John Patterson. “If she was stabbed first, how did the cyanide get in her system?”  
  
“We can tell by the …” he began, then stopped short.   
  
“How? How can you tell?” shrieked Liz Patterson Caine.  
  
“By the … position of the body,” Luggsworth stuttered. That was true, but not the whole truth. He could tell definitively by the tape. “It appears that Elly Patterson was holding an uneaten, poisoned muffin in her hand when she was stabbed in the back. She fell to the floor—“   
  
The crowd gasped.  
  
“—and as she lay, mortally wounded on the floor, she took a bite of the muffin and swallowed it.”  
  
“Oh!” Liz cried. “That’s just what mom would do! She loved her muffins so!”  
  
“There, there,” Anthony creaked.  
  
“But,” John Patterson shouted over the din of the crowd. “Who poisoned it? Who stabbed her?”  
  
“The poison was purchased on eBay, using a credit card,” Luggsworth said. “The knife is the knife Michelle’s holding right there, that he got his fingerprints all over, like a dumbass. I … I’m going to arrest the culprit right now. I want you all to remain calm.”  
  
Luggsworth took a deep breath. All eyes were on him. Dee nodded to him.

His next few words would irrevocably change the course of several lives.  
  
“Michael Patterson, you’re under arrest for the murder of Eleanor Richards Patterson …”


End file.
